


expression as a weapon (i do choose to abuse it)

by Gingersnaps (K___P)



Series: It's not a war crime if you didn't set up the Geneva conventions [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Again, Angst, Can I hear a Wahoo, Fluff, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Good Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I'm begging get rid of the real name tags, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric, and he also has a gun, big brother wilbur soot, both pre and post doomsday, but he has his memories back, mom said it's my turn to have the protective big brother arc, please I will literally go over all my fics and change them manually just get rid of them, post exile arc, pov u hurt this random ghosts little brothers, protective Alivebur my beloved, techno is trying he's just not sure what to do, wilbur voice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K___P/pseuds/Gingersnaps
Summary: Ghostbur is present in the arctic anarchists home in the weeks planning the destruction of new l'manburg. it changes everything and nothing.OR: the one in which I space out the timeline, make the exile arc a bit happier, give the kids a happy ending, and rag on techno for teaming up w dream after losing two brothers to him . not necessarily in that order
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & Philza, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Philza, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Tubbo
Series: It's not a war crime if you didn't set up the Geneva conventions [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991350
Comments: 25
Kudos: 272





	expression as a weapon (i do choose to abuse it)

**Author's Note:**

> hey ❤️
> 
> I'm back for a bit w a spiritual successor to the ghost rule fic . as in it is mentioned in two paragraphs and this is very focused on ghostbur
> 
> anyway hello !!!! I am so close to losing my mind and giving up on school entirely but that might just b the stress talking . enjoy !!!
> 
> also I literally got to the word limit of my notes app. what the fuck. this is a big boy apparently. I wrote it all in one day ❤️
> 
> I haven't written anything in a while, so forgive me if it's shaky at the start or anything . I'm just doing this 4 clout and attention bc I miss getting it

ghostbur stares up at him. techno feels sick; all throughout their childhood, even with techno inheriting more of their shared piglin blood, wilbur had been taller than him. now, standing a good few inches above his twin, he just feels hollow.

his hair, translucent and ever-so-slightly faded as it may be, is only brown at the tips. at the roots, a more pinkish colour pokes through, a little darker than techno's own. in the darkness of the ravine, nobody had noticed the colour shift. now, he finds himself hating the lasting reminder.

he turns away, irrationally angry at the sight. behind him, the ghost of his twin tilts his head in a way he knows he does too, floppy ears shifting. when they were younger, phil used to laugh at the movement. now he just sighs.

"techno," ghostbur says. there is a stiffness to his tone, reminiscent of the trials, back on a world forever ago. he is offering him a chance to explain himself, an out. still, he does not reply. "techno." underneath the steel, vulnerability lurks, a plea masquerading as an order.

once, he was unable to say no to his twin, caving eventually. but this is not his brother, and he tells himself that he feels no remorse at ignoring him. instead, he pushes the door open, shoulders hunched as he steps through the doorway and into the main area of the house.

he pretends he doesn't see the raw hurt on his brother's expression as the heavy spruce door swings shut.

\---

a little over a year has passed since lmanburg's second destruction. a little over a year has passed since they were forced to watch wilbur's death, since they were forced to bottle up their grief to fight withers.

when techno and phil had arrived back at the final control room, tommy was already there. he was hunched over the corpse lying on the floor, limbs spread haphazardly.

"phil," the youngest had forced out, voice shaking, "did you see him die?"

next to him, phil had looked as if he'd been struck. a part of techno had wanted to defend him, snap back at tommy, but all volatile emotions had drained out of him the moment he stepped into the cold stone tunnel. he was running on fumes.

besides, they knew what tommy was really wondering. did he die alone? were his final breaths in the arms of his father, protected by blackened wings once more? was he left, bleeding from two gashes on his chest, for what could've been hours?

phil's silence said enough. there hadn't been enough time to watch his son pass and save his other: he'd had to make a cruel choice, one he'd hoped to never make. even still, techno wondered if he regretted it. 

(he told himself he didn't regret encouraging wilbur, that he was just trying to show wilbur the harm of governmental tyranny. he told himself that it wasn't selfish to want his twin on his side, that it was for the good of them both, even as disgust crawled up his spine every time wilbur and dream would leave together.

while he may have waited for hours, as the stars retreated and dawn arrived, for them to return, he refused to admit there was anything there. he didn't care about the way his twin would look more and more hollow as gunpowder coated his hands, his coat, his face. he didn't care about how his brothers retreated further and further into the ravine, neither looking him in the eye.

he didn't care. it was all for their own good, for the good of the server, why didn't they see?)

\---

a little over a year has passed since his death, and a little under a year has passed since his return.

in that year, he has not aged a single day, and yet it feels as if the weight of the world has hunched his back and darkened his eyelids.

he spent one month in new l'manburg, helping to rebuild from the destruction wreaked across the landscape. in the beginning, he had been truthful; he did not remember any of what had happened, had simply wanted to help, to let the hurt of the survivors heal.

(he listened to fundy and quackity, when they hissed all his wrongdoings at him. he had picked his way through the ravine, staring at pistons his baby brother had once found himself stuck in, at the pit his brothers had fought in, at the potato farm his twin had slaved over.

he had visited the camarvan, idly shifting things around for hours until realising what he had done. potions were brewed, chests rearranged in a way that felt familiar and distant at once. later, tubbo had found it, along with eret. the two of them had frozen, stuck in a past they could never return to.

lastly, he had visited the root of all his evil, the stone room that had ended it all and started something bigger than he had realised. for an eternity and a second, he was overwhelmed by sensations and screams and the feeling of wood against his fingers and a sword through his chest-

and then he had faded completely, faced with four unfamiliar faces staring down at him with terror-laced faces. he hadn't understood, then, the creeping guilt and horror on the fox hybrid's face, nor the pain in the eldest avian hybrid's eyes.

it wasn't until the banishment of his baby brother that he remembered who he was, confused and stumbly though he became; through the scrambled mind and flickering form he knew one thing.

protect tommy.)

\---

he spent nine months with tommy in his exile, doing his best to make him smile and laugh even as he slowly lost the fire in his eyes. january faded into spring, and he tugged his little brother around to the rolling plains, showing him how to let rabbits onto his lap and climbing the tallest trees.

in those spring months, dream didn't visit as often, and a shine came back to tommy's hair. his voice became louder, more vibrant, and ghostbur found himself feeling more and more like a man he had never met. they'd spend the days running in the sun, setting up flowers to grow and finding a family of hens, and in the nights they'd huddle round a campfire and sing songs.

he wasn't sure when, exactly, easter was, but when dream came around with his too-white mask and too-green cloak, carrying a basket of eggs, he knew he had to do something. the easter egg hunt the three of them played was cruel, he thinks, memories slipping like sand.

(ghostbur may have had a bad memory, but he could still remember the chocolate eggs he used to get tommy, just thick enough that they were difficult to crack open. more often than not, the two of them would bash the eggs together, phil and techno looking on with exasperated fondness.

these eggs were not chocolate. these eggs were not halfway the size of his forearm. these eggs were from birds, from mobs, and he wondered if tommy knew.

from the way he looked at them, smashed in one of dream's many fits of rage, he probably did.

that night, after dream left, they held a small sort-of funeral. tommy cried more than he probably would have for some heartbroken birds. ghostbur wondered when the last time he cried was.)

the summer months were better, rising earlier and sleeping later. tommy seemed to gain a new sense of energy as summer came, and ghostbur decided to roll his birthday celebrations and easter all into one.

he took special care to make sure dream heard nothing about the party, but ranboo visited, covering his ears as an overexcited big q shouted at them from his side. as quackity and tommy chatted away, a mile a minute, ghostbur floated over to ranboo, gazing over the waves in content silence.

he may not have known the kid very well, or at all, but the sight of tommy's grin spreading to his ears was enough for him. they spent the day on the beach, building sandcastles and seeing how far quackity could soar after being launched from the hill.

as evening fell, they retired to the campsite, laughing around the campfire as quackity regaled them with thrilling tales of his new country, el rapids, throwing himself across ranboo's lap in a fit of overdramatic sobbing. ranboo, a look of mock disgust on his face, pushed him off. quackity's cries of outrage were softened by the sight of tommy laughing so hard he was sobbing, wheezing and slamming a fist onto his log.

they handed out gifts, tommy getting some new shoes from fundy, a brand new shirt from niki, and a thick leather-bound journal from ranboo. quackity had insisted his presence was present enough, but ghostbur had seen him slipping some framed photos onto tommy's bedside table. he'd caught the hybrid's eye, and smiled gratefully. quackity had just shrugged, grinning.

before they split, with quackity and ranboo needed in new l'manburg, tommy tugged on his sleeve and asked if he could sing something for him. and ghostbur, eternally weak to his brother, had agreed easily, picking up his guitar and handing it to quackity.

that night, tommy fell asleep to the familiar lilt of l'manburg's anthem, and quackity carefully carried him to his bed. as he came back outside, his face was conflicted, looking at ghostbur with a question on his lips.

"it was dream," he tells the younger hybrids, voice flat. "i don't know how much longer i can keep him away from tommy, but i'm trying my best." and then, lighter, "feel free to come back anytime, ok? he likes talking to you guys, and so do i."

quackity had nodded, unnaturally grim for a second, before he and ranboo turned towards the portal. "nice seeing you again, ghostbur," ranboo called over the hum of the portal, before the were both sucked from the overworld.

shaking out his non-existant joints, ghostbur made his way over to the tent to check on tommy - who was sleeping more peacefully than he had in months - and then to the buildings of logstedshire.

tommy had assumed his gift had been the party, and the chocolate eggs, and quackity and ranboo's visit. even so, he still had one more thing to do, and he got to work, carefully crafting a lodestone small enough to fit into a compass.

\---

somehow dream had found out about tommy's newfound happiness, and decided he couldn't let that slide. his visits were more frequent and more lengthy, flipping from sickeningly sweet to downright horrible, and ghostbur wasn't sure what to do.

his twin and his father had fucked off to who knows where, and everyone in new l'manburg refused to take him seriously. if he mentioned tommy, he'd get shouted at for being insensitive towards tubbo, and if he mentioned dream, they'd all leap to defend him.

his frustration grew along with tommy's dependency on dream, until eventually he became second-best to the cruel god who played games with their lives. now, ghost as he is, he could tell the similarities between their treatments: the complete isolation, the gaslighting, the promise of a common goal ...

in a horrible turn of events, he was now the only thing standing between his baby brother and a malevolent force. he couldn't do anything except patch up tommy's wounds (how did he get those?) and dry tommy's tears (why was he crying?). it took everything in him not to disappear as he began to take down towers.

nine months into the exile (and that was what it was, even if nobody told him. he was remembering more and more, the similarities between the situations too close for his liking), tommy had planned a party. nobody had visited for a while, a month or two, and he was getting desperate.

it had been ghostbur's suggestion, anger crawling in his chest at the sight of dream's hand resting on tommy's shoulder, at the bomb holes littering the once-beautiful landscape. he had wanted someone, anyone, to be there, to come and help save his brother.

and then one night, dream had come up to him. he had asked to see a book - his book, one recording everything since his death. unsure of what was happening, but hesitant for tommy to face consequences, he had handed it over, only for the book to be dropped into dream's ender chest.

still in shock, he had barely registered the shift of white porcelain until he was looking into dream's real, human face. it was terrifying, even though he looked completely normal. his eyes glowed a harsh, acidic green in the darkness of the night, and his teeth looked closer to fangs.

he had gripped his shoulder, claws digging into the soft yellow sweater, and told him one thing.

"go wander out in the snow, and don't return until i call for you, you hear me?"

stumbling backwards, mind already fogging with confusion, he had obeyed, a strange blankness settling over his thoughts.

he was gone by morning.

\---

techno didn't like the way dream looked at phil when he visited. there was something calculated in his gaze, leading in his questions about how many lives the older had left. it wasn't uncommon for the ruler of a world to ask about lives - especially with two ghosts hanging around, unable to leave - but it still put him on edge.

it wasn't helped with the recent betrayal of tommy, stumbling away from him the moment dream stepped to his side. there was something there, terror and confusion and anger brewing in his eyes, that made techno want to grab phil and get out of the god's sight.

and now, with the ghost of his twin begging him to stay away from dream, or to, better yet, kill the bastard, he was feeling conflicted. 

on the one hand, he owed dream a favour for saving him from his execution, and for offering his support to techno's ideals. but on the other, he was painfully curious about what had happened to make his brothers so wary of dream. he knew of tommy's exile, of course, and had seen his involvement in wilbur's spiral, but it all seemed so ... messy.

the moment ghostbur had heard of the allegiance between dream and techno, he had spun on his ghostly heel and left phil and techno standing in the kitchen, unsure of what to do. they hadn't seen him in a week, until he returned with a set jaw and narrowed eyes.

(if he had bothered to look past the line of, this is not my brother this will never be my brother, he would have seen wilbur in the stubborn refusal to abandon his family, in the pinch of his eyebrows and protective snaps whenever they mentioned tommy.

but he didn't, because if he did, then he'd have to admit that wilbur was disagreeing with him, that wilbur probably hated him. he'd have to admit that, while he was not in the wrong, he was also firmly far away from being in the right.)

whenever dream was around, he would disappear completely, and would be tense for the rest of the day. it was reminiscent of the nights where he would return to the ravine, exhaustion weighing heavily on his mind and fingers twitching for a cigarette.

he still didn't know what had happened in exile. he still didn't know what had happened in the control room, he still didn't know the past the rest of them shared with dream. instead, all techno saw was someone who failed to play the game, and who had suffered the price of losing.

family dinners without tommy became tenser, ghostbur staring off into space, seeming more forgetful than he had with tommy present. techno hated it with everything in his guts. he and phil had been devising a way to make him remember, as well as teach new l'manburg a lesson, once and for all.

"we're thinking of blowing up new l'manburg," techno said one night, as casually as he could while still sounding serious. ghostbur had frozen, eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling even as his fists clenched. 

"...why?" his voice was shaky. phil grimaced, but didn't stop techno as he spoke. 

"because they need to learn to not make anymore new governments. they need to learn the consequences of their act-"

"i-..." ghostbur took a step back from where he'd slammed his hands onto the table, but there was no regret in the actions. instead, he looked conflicted, glancing up at them as if he couldn't recognise them.

as if he couldn't recognise his own twin.

"i need to think about that. goodnight."

they watched him leave, muttering to himself. techno forced down all the emotions that came from that, and the fact that, even with family, his twin refused to turn his back to them.

no, he didn't focus on the pit sinking in his stomach, and turned back to phil. "dream said he'd be coming over tomorrow to discuss plans. next week good for you?"

\---

he had spent two weeks wandering in the snowy landscapes of the taiga biomes, memories fading as his body faded too. why he was still out here, he couldn't be sure, but his memories were scrambled. he probably deserved it.

it was a hellish two weeks, in which he felt his life slowly slip away from him for the fourth time, until he looked up by chance to see warm light flooding from a cozy little cottage. it looked exactly how he had always imagined when he was younger, rambling to techno about textures and aesthetics.

he had always thought techno didn't listen to him. proof to the contrary was staring him dead in the face.

he didn't hesitate in rushing towards the house, knocking on the door - techno didn't like surprises, he knew - and grinning widely when his twin threw open the door. they'd talked in a whirlwind rush, questions going unanswered as they basked in each other's company, until footsteps crunched in the snow behind them.

he recognised ranboo, and quackity, even though they looked ... different. he didn't like the hardened expression on tubbo's young face, or the way fundy gripped his axe too professionally for an amateur. this wasn't l'manburg, but he couldn't see anyway for them not to be, either, and was so conflicted he missed the entire battle.

what he was later told was techno's attempted execution became a blur to him, flashes of woollen blues and steel greys overwhelming. in the calm, he managed to find ranboo, and set about making the trek back to techno's.

he spent one and a half months at techno's house with tommy, techno and ranboo, and they were some of the happiest months of his undeath. he helped tommy come out of his shell, and talked circles around dream when he visited, and techno smiled at him more. it all felt good.

but then his brothers left one day, and only one of them returned, and he felt a familiar churning in his gut at techno's stormy expression. once he heard techno explaining what had happened to phil - tommy's supposed betrayal, the community house, _dream_ \- he had hidden in tommy's room and shaken.

they began talking about plans of destruction, no matter how ghostbur tried to prevent it, and he felt his hope begin to wane. this ... this wasn't his family. this wasn't his twin, this wasn't his dad.

he couldn't recognise these people, he realised one night, floating five inches above the cavern that had once been tommy's room. they were willing to follow in his footsteps - willing to act in his name - and he was fucking terrified.

one day, he had asked phil why they were planning to blow up new l'manburg, but the only response he received had been 'as a lesson'. he had just nodded, forcing himself not to flinch as the stranger with his father's face ruffled his hair, and disappeared as quickly as he could.

this wasn't right. this wasn't right, and he didn't know what to do, and he was so fucking helpless--

like always. what a fucking joke of a leader he was.

\---

a little over a year has passed since wilbur's death, and yet techno can feel his presence everywhere. in the expertise of the brewed potions, in the methodical rearranging of the kitchen, in the swords and axes that never seemed to go dull no matter how much they were used.

wilbur may not be gone, but ghostbur would never be him. not when he hasn't aged a day, not when techno is doing all the growing for them, face maturing in a way wilbur's never will again. it's a painful thing, to look in the mirror and see wilbur's face a bit to the left.

it's even more painful to see new l'manburg, decorated in the way wilbur gushed about when they were younger. maybe that was why he had to blow it up, to get rid of it all. maybe he really was selfish after all.

he prided himself on his confidence, on the way he never needed someone else's approval on anything. even phil, arguably his closest ally, could never tell him what to do.

but then, why did the sight of ghostbur's closed-off frown, so painfully similar to wilbur's, make him want to shrivel up? why was he hesitating over- over some pale imitation of his brother never meeting his eyes? why did it hurt so much?

(ghostbur had caught him by the arm, the morning that they left to set up the explosives. he looked at the floor instead of his twin, and techno couldn't pretend it didn't sting.

"i'm not going to ... to stop you," he had said, eyebrows scrunched. techno's heart ached, "but i'm not going to help you, either. and..."

as he trailed off, he gently released techno's arm, and he found himself missing the cold touch.

"...i don't know if i'll be able to talk to you after. if- if you go through with this. that's it. that's all i wanted to say."

and with that, he stepped back, widening the distance built between them. as he turned away, techno couldn't help but see the hunch of wilbur in his shoulders, the determination set in his brow.

maybe, if he'd realised then that he could lose his brother for good, he would've reconsidered. but he hadn't, so he didn't, and never stopped wondering what if.)

\---

doomsday came. wilbur - because he was wilbur, now; he'd lost too much of ghostbur's innocence to call himself that - had sat on the hills surrounding new l'manburg, watching as tommy and tubbo frantically tried to save the last of their home. 

he watched as his twin, and his father, and his son, and his best friend, and his mortal enemy, all joined together to deliver one last, cruel slap in the face to those who still believed in l'manburg.

what they didn't seem to realise is that, if he had been able, wilbur might not have even pressed the button. he could never be sure, clear-headed as he is now, but he could remember dream's smooth voice, telling him he _had_ to press the button no matter what. could remember thinking it was the only way out.

at least tommy had taken the tnt from the room itself. he hadn't realised it until he was searching for his missing memories, but there was a section of rock artificially carved out, as though meant to be holding something long gone. it had made his chest feel warm, right before his mind has gone blank.

and now, everyone was kicking his kids, his brothers, when they were down. they pushed through injury after injury, hastily slapping milk-soaked rags on wither wounds. even as tubbo shoved tommy out of the way of some fireworks, looking terrified and determined all at once, nobody paused to check on them.

nobody paused to check on them, and it made him feel sick. they were his kids - he'd been the one to find both tommy and tubbo, had been the one to raise them whenever phil and techno fucked off to whatever raid they were going on then - and he'd be _damned_ if he let them die for real.

in life, his one strength had been quick wit and a silver tongue. in death, he'd gained the ability to be a general inconvenience to everyone around him, unable to be killed.

he may not be strong enough to face the withers, or quick enough to save the l'mantree, but he was able to do this one thing.

techno's eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, as wilbur planted his feet in front of the cowering teens. he wasn't entirely sure what had happened - everything was blurring together in his mind - but from the way tubbo was trembling and the sickening smell of burned fleshed, he could guess.

"ghostbur," he called, as if wilbur was just wandering in with no clue what was happening, "get outta here, ok?"

tommy - little tommy, who'd clung to his trouser leg as techno and phil left for the last time, who'd mumbled a request for the national anthem, who he would die for again and again--

tommy glanced up at him, eyes wide, and wilbur smiled down at him, gentle and comforting as he could. he knew techno (probably) wouldn't shoot so long as he was there, and he planned to use it to its full advantage.

"go," he told them, as reassuringly as possible with explosions deafening them all. "go to pogtopia and stay there, yeah? i'll be there soon."

even as tommy scrambles away, wilbur refuses to look at techno, instead looking out across the sea of destruction. he watched, absently, as his music stand was destroyed.

"wi- ghostbur, i thought you said you wouldn't stop me!" techno shouted from across the crater, waving his rocket launcher in the direction of the escaping teens. wilbur found himself laughing ever-so-slightly, half-turning towards him.

"i'm not stopping you, techie," he calls, words light even as his voice drips disgust. "you got what you wanted, you blew up my home. i have nowhere to go to anymore, no history left to save."

he spins on his ghostly heel, letting his hands fall into the familiar pockets of his trenchcoat. "i'm glad you've had your fun."

with that, he leaves, a glowing spectre in a ruined world. in a moment of calm, he is the only movement, drawing the eyes of all. he doesn't pause, simply striding across gaps of air until he reaches the treeline. 

they do not catch a glimpse of his face.

\---

tommy and tubbo watch him with thinly-veiled wariness as he approaches, trenchcoat billowing behind him, but it evaporates as he tugs them into a hug. he may not be the walking furnace he used to be, but his cold is a balm against their aching wounds, and they finally let themselves take a moment to breathe.

tommy is the first to break, tears spilling silently down his face until, as if a dam had broken, he begins to sob in earnest, clinging to his brother's coat. tubbo soon follows suit, choked-off cries muffled into wilbur's shoulder. 

he wraps his arms tightly around his two little brothers, staring blankly at the familiar walls of pogtopia. this place had been where he'd lost his mind, where he'd hurt his baby brothers, had used his twin for all his dirty work. and yet, they hadn't given up on him.

he swore to himself, sitting in the dark and cradling two sobbing teens in his arms, that he would never give up on them.

\---

techno stares down at the book in his hands, dyed-leather covering worn and well-loved. dream had handed it to him before disappearing up to the tnt riggings, with a half-grin and instructions to read it once he got home.

at the time, he had been too focused on the upcoming battle, and of ghostbur's ominous parting words, that he hadn't paid much mind to it. but now, mind buzzing, it's all he can think of.

he undoes the cloth clasp (an ache in his chest - wilbur had always loved the cloth buckle clasps for journals) and opens the first page.

there, in very familiar handwriting, are the words _keep away from dream. keep tommy away from dream._ it's clearly wilbur's handwriting, and as he begins to flick through the pages, he feels himself sicken.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe the real treasure was this sick fuckin backbone i found in the trash


End file.
